The Masked Rose
by PhantomLilac
Summary: The Masked Rose-the story of Love Never Dies...rewritten as a genderbend! I don't know if anyone else has attempted a G-B of Love Never Dies, but I am going to try to.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I decided that instead of just doing the entire POTO rewritten as a genderbend fic, I am doing LND (and beyond that) because I don't believe (?) anyone else has attempted that. If so, I'm not trying to copy anyone elses' writings.**

**I'm sorry to anyone who wanted an entire POTO fic, I just didn't want to have rewrite the entire story because well...we all know what happens in POTO (sure, someone is going to say, "Well everyone knows the ending of LND"), but because of the genderbend-ing concern, the ending is going to be changed and the story will be extended because, well, that's more interesting for me to write.**

**On second note, RADIANCE OF PERSIA, the fanfic I am currently also writing, is still in the process of being written, do not worry! I just got sidetracked with a family trip and started trying to write other ideas...like per-say this one.**

**Thank you, for those of you who decide to read this and (hopefully) enjoy this story. And without further ado, I present "The Masked Rose."**

.::.

**Chris Daae**

Hesitantly, I knocked on the knobbed white door, my eyes peeled for anyone who was watching my movements. Rachael wouldn't follow me all the way across Paris, would she? Tomorrow morning, before dawn, I'd return, but before so, I had one last blessing I need receive before my wedding day.

I knocked again when no response arose, to which I pressed an ear against the side of the door, listening to whispers.

The home I had arrived upon belonged to that of Monsieur Addams Giry, and his son, my best friend, Mortimer, who cared for his father.

Monsieur Giry was a shriveled old boxkeeper at the Garnier Opera House. He knew HER, as he kept HER box. Despite the fact I knew he was hiding HER, and I wanted to see HER desperately, I respected Monsieur Giry for helping care for me when I was a young orphan from Sweden.

Mortimer was the one to finally answer the door. He was nervous knowingly, his blue eyes flitting from side to side, before he let me in and locked the door behind us.

My once close friend seemed estranged now, intimidated by my presence.

"Good evening, Christopher. Anything I can do to help you?" he stammered, glancing at his feet.

Before I could respond, immediately I was face to face with Monsieur Giry, who shook his head sadly side to side, strolling along with a cane.

"Mortimer, son, we know why he's here, why even ask? Come sit down, my dear Christopher, and have some tea."

After what happened about a month ago, I had lost temporary contact with the Giry's. No doubt, SHE was with them, hiding around here somewhere, perhaps even watching me. It sent shivers down my spine, knowing to speak with HER would be painful, but it had to be done.

"So, Christopher-"

"Chris, messier, just call me Chris," I interrupted, then added a quick apology.

"That's quite alright, Chris. Now, where was I?" he paused, thinking, as he took his porcelain goblet of tea.

"Ah yes. How is Rachael doing? Is the wedding going to come along alright?"

I nodded, uneasily smiling.

"Rachael is fine. I actually came not only for the reason you know of, but I wanted to ask Mortimer something very important."

Mortimer placed his own cup down, turning to face me, eyes brightening as he openly awaited to listen.

"Morty, I don't have a best man, and you're my closest friend...tomorrow will you be the best man at my wedding?"

Mortimer brimmed, "I would quite love to. Papa, could I?"

When Monsieur Giry shook his head with no response, dread filled my heart. Why couldn't he? Almost as if knowingly, Mortimer nodded, then opened his mouth to add something to me, before bowing his head.

Within seconds, I heard scuffling in the kitchen, then suddenly, the voice I had been searching for spoke, though I could not see HER.

"Addams, is there anymore bread left? The last of it in the barn ran out to mice."

I jerked up, only for my arm to be grabbed disapprovingly by Monsieur Giry, who sent me a sharp, unexpected glare.

"Mortimer, tend to our guest's needs, please and send her off. I want to talk for a moment." he growled. I sat back down, waiting for 10 minutes in silence, staring down with Monsieur for a while. All this fury and temperance was confusing to me. What had I done that was so awful? As Mortimer returned inside, I bolted out the back door, before I could be stopped. I was relieved, knowing that the two would realize there was no point in stopping my quest.

I paused, pushing the red door open. I stared about in the doorway. It was dark...it was cold. Moonlight shuddered and convulsed through a crack in the ceiling.

Just to double-check that no one would try to follow me, I took the bolt on the lock and began to easily shut it all up and away. This would be something I'd have to face alone.

I heard a low moaning creak from the rafters, and my eyes fluttered upwards. I still hadn't adjusted to the dark, but in seconds, I was met face to face with two glowing eyes of brilliant amber, a shade that was almost inhuman, but oddly enough, they were there.

"Hello?" I whispered. I was met back with a rude growl.

"Monsieur Daae, we meet again. Scram, before I beat the daylight out of you."

"Erika," I finally said her name with as much calmness I could bear. My heartstrings tugged at me as I gripped the railing as tightly as I could.

"Why are you here, anyways? Why would you want to play cat-and-mouse again? I get it, Rachael won, or do you need a reminder, Christopher?"

At last she stepped into the moonlight. Something about her was different. It was the way she dressed, clearly. Half her face was bare, the other underneath her brilliant white mask. Her raven black hair was tucked up into a rose pin, and a very attractive red dress was spun down to her ankles. She crossed her arms, eyes leering on the brink.

I couldn't believe how vaguely beautiful she looked like this, actually dressing like...a woman. Before, she had worn a tuxedo, because it was the only thing that fit her. Monsieur Giry must've hired a private tailor to make her some nice clothing.

"You look nice." I said, awestruck, and unable to think clearly. It was like in a trance. She rolled her eyes. I peeled my hands off of the railing, only to yelp. It must've been old and broken, for I was now stuck in with a million splinters.

Erika sighed, taking my hands unwillingly to hers.

"In an old, dark barn, you gotta watch out. In the deChagney manor, you don't get splinters, do you?" she irritably mocked. For such an old, rickety barn, she produced a small candlelight and I was alarmed to find her entire swan bed here. Erika forced me to sit as she produced tweezers and began to pluck painfully, every wood chip embedded in my skin.

"What happened to you, Erika? Why are you here? Why aren't you in Opera House?" I asked. She smirked wryly.

"To you, everything's perfect, probably. For me, the mob chased me down the corridor and made the ceiling collapse. I escaped through a tunnel. I ran around in the rainy shadows before I stood on Addams Giry's front doorstep. He took me in and gave me a place to stay. What can I say, it's better than nothing." she muttered, letting out a grunt as she pulled out the final splinter.

"Thanks," I said, sighing in relief. That wasn't the end of it, though, in seconds she pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured it on my hands, making them sizzle and burn. I bit my lip as it hurt so bad. Once more, she rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself.

"You're such a baby, Christopher. That's why you're manipulated by Rachael, because she's a bitch," she bluntly stated. A little bit of resentment crossed my mind.

"Rachael isn't manipulative, or a bitch, Erika. Isn't that hypocritical of you to say-" I got cut off by my own yawn, to which she raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, lover boy, you best be off home. Good luck tomorrow, since I won't ever have a need to bother you again."

Never...again? I thought about this for a moment. Erika had ripped her heart out, practically, for me. She'd given up everything to love me, and now I would never see her again. Maybe it was a foolish mistake to choose Rachael instead...who would ever know now?

I wrapped my arm around her waist, and before she could complain, placed a kiss against her lips. Erika didn't fight back, but suddenly she started crying.

"Please Chris, we shouldn't..." she gasped between furious kisses. I smiled, knowing my choice now was clear. I knew in my heart where my love lies, so why couldn't I change it now?

.::.

**Erika Mulheim**

I awoke beside Christopher, shaking my head slowly and sadly. He and I had given each other everything truly now, but I had to go, time to leave this place behind.

"Goodbye, Christopher Daae. Hope your marriage with Rachael turns out flaky," I sniggered, half-heartingly, before I pressed a kiss to his forehead. He stirred a moment, but did not awaken. I crept down the railing, unlocking the barn and leaving it wide open. I'm sure Rachael would find him now, and I know he wouldn't tell her what he'd done. I didn't have the guts to stick around and find out.

I hated Rachael deChagney, and that was that. But that's not why I was leaving.

"Monsieur Giry?" I called into the open doorway. He grudged on with a suitcase, pausing as he nodded to me.

"Time to go, Erika. Is Christopher...gone?" he murmured.

"He left hours ago, he just wanted my wedding blessing. Like he deserved it," I lied. My heart lurched for a second before we began to depart by carriage. Mortimer felt my forehead with a hand. He was like my annoying little brother, one I had never had.

"Are you okay? Your forehead is really hot." Mortimer shrilled. I nodded with a yawn passing my lips. Great, Chris had given me his yawn too.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, keep your hand off me," I sarcastically snarled. In fact, I wasn't okay. I was sick. I was lovesick, even worse than before, but I guess it was okay, because in the end, I still lost.

I was lost, and now, where we were going now, I prayed, would provide a better life for me.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize for this chapter being sorta short, I just needed to clear some space to progress the story to the main setting :3**

.::.

**Chris**

It's been 6 months since Erika disappeared...I have no idea where she has gone.

But now, now I'm going to finally fight the guilt and try to call Monsieur Giry. I was confused by his irritation before, but maybe it would be worth it.

5. I turned the dial and waited for it to rest again. 8. I did it, and repeated until I had the entire number into the new telephone design. I was still confused by this concept of phones, but who cared, if I could find her.

It's not that I don't care about Rachael. I love her...as a friend, but Erika was mine and mine alone, and I wanted her back.

"Hello?" it was Mortimer's voice. Immediately, I replied, "Hey, it's Christopher. I've been trying to find you all...where's Erika?"

"Uh. Let me put papa on..."

I heard something in the background, something that made hope in my chest stir.

"Morty, who's on the telephone? Is it Chris?" It was Erika!

"Erika!? Can you hear me?" I gasped. But instead I was met with the voice of Monsieur Giry.

"Don't you dare call us again, Christopher deChagney. Erika, go back to bed." he snapped.

"Monsieur, please-"

"Mortimer, deal with this, will you?"

I jumped back into the conversation.

"Is she sick? What's wrong? Can I please talk to Erika?" I struggled with every word. If she was sick, would she die? Whatever it was, she sounded terrible and desperate.

"Listen to me, Chris. She's ill, so very ill, and it's all your fault she's this way."

I shuddered. His words were chilling. She's this way? Which way was THIS WAY?

"Addams Giry, I need to-" he hung up. I slammed the round, wired telephone onto its stands, burying my hands in my face. I would try again later, over and over again, but she would never reply. I had to get home from the office, for Rachael would be worried about me...

.::.

10 years later...

.::.

"Papers! The daily scoop! Phantasma opens in Coney Island!"

I passed the paperboy and tossed him a nickel, retrieving a large paper. The front headliner was large and intriguing, as I read over it.

PHANTASMA - NEW SPECTACLE OF CONEY ISLAND NOW HIRING PERFORMERS

Phantasma is an amazing new park set up in Coney Island, made only for us! Run by the elusive Madame E, we present the most brilliantly crafted world center for entertainment.

Hiring professional singers now, at a starting salary of one million dollars-

I stopped reading, as excitement had squalled through my bones. One million dollars? A salary? It was perfect...all the debts Rachael had caused...could be fixed!

Indeed, Rachael had gone off on a trip with her lady friends and spent all our money on wine. When she came back, she was drunken from head to toe, and I had to help her violently delusional self to bed and rest. The public never heard the end of it...but now, we could fix everything!

I hurried along home, practically running up the stairs, to where I found her in the bar room as usual, sugarcoating herself in probably dozens of glasses of the foul red liquid. She smiled dizzily, clearly again in a confused state, when she giggled, twisting her fingers through her hair.

"Christopher, honey, have a drink! Sit down, you look tired!" she gurgled bubbly, clearing a space on the couch for me to sit.

"I have exciting news, dearest," I mused, setting the paper down.

"Er, okay, what?"

"We're going to America...I'll sing like the good old days and provide us with money!"

.::.

**Erika**

I strolled down my glorious Phantasma...what my years and years of hard work had paid off of. All those gentleman clubs, serving drinks while wearing skanky outfits, trying to put food on the table for my newfound family with the Giry's.

"Oh! Madame E!" It was some of the passerby fancy ladies-here on Coney Island, much to my surprise, like France, visitors enjoyed wearing nice beautiful ball gowns and such.

I blinked, looking up to see that this passerby was no passerby, it was Nurse Gangle, my headmaster of ceremonies who happened to have just been crossing past. She also was the party organizer and such.

"Yes, Gangle? Walk with me." I mused. Every now and then, I waved at people who happened to stroll by on the street.

I decided it'd be fun to harass the poor lady for subtle laughs, for Gangle was my closest little lackey and would understand my dark humor. Very few people, unlike Mister Fleck and Madame Squelch, actually know me as a person.

"Of course, Madame. I am here to approach you about the Winter Ball in two months!" she said.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, you said put streamers on every street...do we have that in the budget?"

I let out a hearty chuckle, slapping her on the arm. Gangle was utterly confused, to my surprise.

"Do we have enough money for streamers? Are you pulling my leg? Of course, my dear Nurse Gangle, of course."

As we would continue our conversation, I grew uneasy with every step as she droned on about how she was going with Mister Fleck, etcetera, etcetera...I knew the only person not dancing with anyone at my own Winter Ball would be me.

When I returned home, I sulked, lying on my bed, I pretended for a brief moment that Chris was here, smiling at me, his green eyes shining like a Christmas Star and his hair like curly brown locks. I had left him out of mind...had that been a good idea after all?

I decided to listen in on the odd conversation Mortimer and Monsieur Giry were having downstairs. Their tones were hushed...and it made me shiver to hear them speak in such an urgent manner. Leaning against the wall, I narrowed my eyes, intent on hearing their words.

"Is it true he's coming here, papa?" Mortimer murmured.

"Yes, he is. It's the latest scoop around town...we must make sure he keeps away and ruins their futures. He'll be the park's undoing!"

He? Who was he? Monsieur Giry couldn't possibly mean...

"Alright, papa. What do you propose we do?" Mortimer whispered.

Monsieur Giry clapped his hands together.

"It's easy. Make sure Chris and Rachael stay out of sight!"

I knew it! I knew it! It was Chris...of course they'd keep his presence a secret. I smirked somewhat. It was time for me to sabotage the Giry's diabolical plans...

But then I thought for a moment. What if Chris had a family now? Children, a good home, wealth, and happiness with Rachael? I despised Rachael for being so perfect...but was I willing to risk trying to win Chris and at the same time ruin his life?

I sighed, slumping back down and burying my hands into my face, forcing myself not to cry now. I would not cry! I was the Phantom of the Opera, for crying out loud! A devious giggle escaped my lips as I traced a punjab lasso with my fingernails onto the wooden floor boards.

Christopher Daae...I thought angrily...if only you had chosen me! Then none of this would've ever happened, and we could be a married couple living somewhere neither of us would be harmed. No doubt, Rachael had brainwashed everything that made him perfect and made him some sort of a fop.

Erika Mulheim was dead to him, I remembered, Erika Mulheim was a nobody, merely a Phantom living below ground, who burned down the whole Opera House just so he couldn't follow her to America. I wondered if he knew I was here. No, he wouldn't know, for I wasn't Erika Mulheim. I was Madame E. Madame E, who was ready to murder if it comes down to it...

I smiled, rising back up. Murder. I didn't have to win Chris' heart to be content in life...I needed Rachael deChagney's head on a silver platter. I wanted to carve her last moments and serve it to her awful patron friends with a touch of wicked zest. It was perfect! And once more, I could live my life without any sort of regret burned in my brain.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, I am hoping as I write this, I will try to post at least 3 chapters of The Masked Rose tonight and maybe one more tomorrow. I am having so much fun with this :D**

.::.

**Chris**

We docked, and I took Rachael's arm in the crook of mine. We looked like one of those couples off of a british magazine. Well, we certainly weren't british, but we looked as attractively fashioned as them.

After settling in the hotel, Rachael drank a bit and passed out on the couch, leaving me to begin unpacking clothing.

The door was knocked upon, to which I smiled and opened it, only to be dismayed to find that it was a short, skinny man with a feathery get-up, not the alleged Madame E.

"Hello, sir! I'm Mister Fleck, and I'm bringing you a pamphlet of directions to the performer's ceremony. It's...Christopher deChagney, right?" he squawked.

"Chris Daae is fine," I said, clearing my throat. Mister Fleck looked down at his card, erasing the name and rewriting it.

"Ah. Perfectly fine. Sir Daae, here's your packet. We shall see you tonight."

In my hands, Mister Fleck placed a parcel of brown leather, my name written on the front in cursive. I was looking forward immediately to the performance tonight-knowing that for myself and the other hired singers, this would give us the perfect viewing of what we were to do.

.::.

I walked along the streets, my nose practically in the pamphlet of instructions, when I heard a crying sound.

I looked up and around. It was the cry of a child, but where was it coming from?

Continuing down the avenue, I started reading again, though concern fluttered in my heard. Who was the mysterious owner of the noises erupting from not too far behind?

I would soon learn enough, for I felt small hands tug on my shirt. It was a little girl, her eyes big, round, and green, with chocolate curls at shoulder length. She was crying, obviously, and I immediately recognized that she must have been the noise I heard.

"Please, messier, help me find my momma!" she sniffled desperately. I raised my eyebrows, accepting her request.

"Alright," I crooned, tucking the pamphlet back into the parcel, "What does she look like?"

"Well..." the child shuffled her feet, "she sings pretty well, and she's really, really pretty!"

I groaned internally, for how was this supposed to help? Instead, I took her small hand, letting her walk with me.

"Tell you what. I'll walk you around the block, and if you don't spot her, I'll get an employee of Phantasma to help you."

"Okay, sir," she glumly muttered.

With a few moments of a very awkward silence, I added, "I didn't catch your name."

"Mommy says don't give my name to strangers."

I rolled my eyes. This was a difficult child. She was almost as difficult as Erika had been. And Erika had been so obnoxious she was beyond repair.

"How old are you?" I asked, hoping she'd try to at least answer some questions.

"I'm 10. At the Winter Ball coming up, Mommy's going to have a special announcement, 'cuz I'll be 11 the same day." she squeaked. Okay. So she was 10. Something was vaguely familiar about this little girl, something I couldn't put my finger on yet.

"Madeleine!? Madeleine!?" a voice called desperately. The little girl jerked out of my hands, crying out, "Mommy! I'm over here, Mommy!"

I turned around to see a young, skinny and tall woman wrap her arms around this girl. So her name was Madeleine...okay.

"Thank you, monsieur, for finding-"

There was tense silence. I was staring at Erika Mulheim, the lady I had loved and not seen for about eleven years now. My lip trembled.

"Nice to see you again, Christopher DECHANGNEY," she spat viscously. Madeleine cowered at her mother's deep tone. I couldn't believe it. It was Erika! In flesh and blood! I thought she had died and now...and now she had a child.

"Erika..." I stammered. I reached out for her hand, but she scoffed, taking Madeleine's hand and abruptly leaving. I tried to follow her, but within seconds she was gone into the shadows. I didn't even hear a footstep, she was just...gone.

.::.

I sat in row three of the stage seating. I couldn't figure it out...Erika had been here, the whole time? How? Why? And why did she have a daughter? Was Madeleine...was Madeleine mine, or Mortimer's? Or maybe she has a husband of her own now.

I looked around the crowd, to find Mortimer sitting off to the distance with Madeleine and Monsieur Giry. Behind them were security guards, defensively barricading people from coming close.

Suddenly, the stage was blinding in a bright light. I rubbed the glare from my eyes, focusing on a trio including Mister Fleck.

The center lady smiled, brushing out a grin of her painted white face. The tattoos on her cheeks were those of roses and daisies, and in a freakish way, it was oddly attractive, not really to myself but I'm sure men found it beautiful.

"Hello all of our visitors, and future performers, to our preview performance on Phantasma. Without further ado, I shall present to you our headmaster behind all the wonders awaiting behind our gates, Madame E!"

The audience roared in delight as the stage dimmed. Excitement raced in my chest. This was my future boss was about to appear.

Silence ensued. I sat anxiously in my seat. The light reappeared, a not too bright, though not dim, white light lit a woman with her back turned. In her arms she held a violin, obviously. The dress, even from behind, was large and turquoise, with elbow-length white gloves. I sighed softly as she began to play beautiful harmonies, ones that captivated my attention.

I understood the entire song. It was one of heartbreak, solitude, and sheer, passionate desire, and then when it ended with one bluesy stroke, the audience began clapping wildly with invigorating applause.

At last, Madame E turned around, and I saw it all with awestricken shock. It all made sense now why Erika was here...Erika WAS Madame E! l listened as she talked about the Winter Ball, and then dismissed the stage. Monsieur Giry and Mortimer were leading Madeleine away. Erika and Madeleine probably lived with the Giry's, I presumed.

But now was my chance to talk to Erika. I had to apologize...for not finding her sooner. It made me feel drearily terrible...

With stealth, I crept backstage, to find her dressing room. I peeked in, finding it funny there were no mirrors this time.

"I should've known that you'd be here," she growled. I was surprised, not realizing her sensitive hearing must've picked up my footsteps.

"Yes," I echoed, "I am here. I'm here now."

She looked up at me, no longer furious, but this gloomy depression settled in.

"Is there something you want, Christopher, or are you here to rub in any further the undeniable truth that Rachael won?"

I crossed my arms. How could she accuse me of not being faithful to her, when she was unfaithful to me with the birth of Madeleine, no doubt being Mortimer's child?

"Look, Erika. I'm not trying to rub anything in. I'm trying to connect to you. Do you think I didn't try very hard after what we did...to find you? Does our night together mean nothing?" I snapped.

She shook her head sadly, putting the violin down into the case and clicking it shut. She stroked its black leather casing for a moment before she responded.

"No, no Chris. I haven't been unfaithful to our night, believe me when I say I haven't. It's not you I'm upset with..." she admitted.

I already knew her answer. She was upset with Rachael, my wife, and I knew exactly why. Rachael had ruined her chances to be with me, so she thought. But one thing was bugging me, something that had been bothering me since I found Erika's daughter in the streets.

"Then tell me," I said uneasily, "who is Madeleine's father?"

Suddenly Erika's emotion faded, her eyes grew dull and even more depressing. I bit my lip, awaiting her response.

"Look, can we talk about this somewhere else? Monsieur Giry could be spying on us here," she whispered, her gaze flitting about nervously.

"Why would he spy on us?" I asked urgently. Before I could interrogate her further, her hand snatched my wrist, and began to desperately pull me along. In the distance, I heard the angry growl of a grown man, and suddenly I believed what she said...

Had Addams Giry been the reason I hadn't been with Erika all these years, and was he manipulating her?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Heh. Spam of Chris chapters, huh? Sorry hehe :-)**

.::.

**Chris**

Erika sat there, in our private booth on the second floor of the restaurant, playing with her straw miserably.

"You need to drink your tea. You look famished. Has Monsieur Giry even been feeding you?"

"Monsieur Giry is always at work up until this year...Mortimer and I worked to feed the family." she explained, still not looking me in the eye.

I wasn't sure she would ever answer my question about Madeleine, but I wanted to find out, so maybe asking little questions would lead up to her giving up the answer.

"Work? Where did you work? I imagine your occupation being a pianist, am I right?"

She laughed at this, though it had no heart, rather was bitter and cold.

"I worked in a gentleman's night bar, wearing skanky fishnet tights, skirts that showed my rear, and very exposing corsets. It was the only job they'd give me, because of my face I couldn't work in an orchestra," she bitterly spat.

For some reason, I couldn't even begin to think what horrors Erika had to bear working in a bar like that.

"Night bar?" I echoed in disbelief. Suddenly tears came to her eyes as she nodded.

"It got so bad one night, a gentleman took a fancy to me, pulled me into the alley and took me as his while I cried for him to leave me alone. My boss found out and did nothing to help me. I was miserable, but I would do whatever I could so my child had a future. Wouldn't you do the same?"

Finally there was a pause, and when I nodded, she took a gulp of her drink, using a napkin to wipe away her tears. I was still shocked. Erika...Erika didn't deserve to work in a filthy night club. I had no idea why anyone would be cruel enough to hurt her.

"You really are wondering about little Maddy, right? I named her after my mother. My mum died giving birth to me, so my papa raised me. He was an alcoholic, so he sold me to gypsies. When I turned ten, that's when Monsieur Giry found me, picking coins while on display like a rat." her voice changed to one softer.

"When I was just about to turn sixteen, I met you through the mirror. I talked to you for a whole year before I decided to show you my world of night time."

"Erika-I'm not mad about what happened before, can we please just start back over?"

"Oh, we cannot start over at this point. You're married, Christopher, and I am not one to get in the way of relationships. Shocking, right?" she mocked, raising her eyebrows.

"You know Rachael wasn't my first choice," I countered.

"Really?" she snarled.

"I don't want to fight."

"I don't either, don't you see? I'm in no condition to fight over lost causes."

She sulked down in her seat. I couldn't help watching her seem so dull, so lifeless. I now felt very sorry for her. Why did I give up on someone who wouldn't have made my life so pointless as Rachael had?

I lifted her chin with my fingertip, and her breathing grew rapid paced from the tension arousing between us both. With a sigh, I pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she must not have been able to help it anymore.

"Christopher, my Maddy is-"

"I think that's quite enough talking. Erika, I tried to warn you."

We both froze in our places in the booth. Monsieur Giry loomed over both of us, his beady eyes sent into a chilling glare. With his strong arms, he grabbed Erika's, making her whimper.

"Hey, let go of her!" I roared, standing up to face him.

Monsieur Giry laughed.

"You don't get it, do you, Christopher DeChagney? Erika can't be yours, she is betrothed to my Mortimer. She's my ward, as is the child. I told you on the phone, she was ill because of you, and you're going to the grave with the crime of Madeleine's illegitimate birth!"

My eyes desperately wandered to Erika, whose face had vanished into her long black hair with shame.

I couldn't believe it. My suspicions were right. Monsieur Giry was the real mastermind pulling the strings. I uselessly walked home as soon as the two were gone. Erika had said she was sixteen when she met me...she was seventeen obviously then when we...

My daughter was in possession of Monsieur Giry, and her mother was going to be married to my former best friend...

.::.

**Erika**

"I told you to stay away from Christopher DeChagney, you stupid girl!" Monsieur Giry snarled into my ear with his nasty breath and his angry eyes.

He threw me onto the couch as soon as we arrived back at the flat. When I shrieked, it must've awoken both Mortimer and Madeleine, for I saw the lights turn on under their doors.

"I'm allowed to make my own choices, you don't own me!" I yelled back at him. He slapped me hard across my jaw, and I collapsed on the floor, for the pain and force was so immense, I couldn't move.

"Listen to me now or I'll sell you away to the plenty of men who'd adore to take you over and over again..." he howled.

I moaned, and he kicked me in the stomach.

"Papa, please stop!" Mortimer growled, grabbing his papa's arm, but Monsieur Giry shrugged him off.

"I took you in as if you were were my own child for over sixteen years. It's not my fault you had a child young because you couldn't obey simple orders from me! I let you live underneath the Opera House under my protection, you blew it. I let you become Madame E, as long as you followed my orders, you blew it. I am everywhere, and if you don't do as I say, I will hire ten grown men to do as they please to you, and then take Madeleine and send her overseas to an orphanage!" He kicked me again in the ribs, and I screamed in pain.

"No, no, please...I'll listen, I'll listen..." I cried. He grinned malevolently, and dished out his orders.

"You are not to talk to Christopher deChagney ever again, is that clear?" Monsieur Giry mused.

"Y-yes, sir." I yelped. Oh god, tomorrow would be rough. How could I dish out practice with a bruised jaw?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, most of the "LND" part of the story will go by quickly to get to the aftermath...yes, the ending and plot is going to be drastically different because I can ;D**

.::.

**Rachael**

Tomorrow...was the concert, right? No, it was tonight. I didn't care. Christopher would sing, we'd be paid, and we'd go home...

"Another wine, please!" I slammed my fist and coins on the table. The bartender wordlessly passed me a drink.

In my mind, I was counting every day it would take Chris to end the marriage. I know he's gonna do it, because I've read his journal. He's always looking for Erika. What does Erika have I don't? She's a psychopath.

"So what's your deal?" the bartender lady gruffly growls.

"My husband is always chasing after some pimp in a white mask named Erika. She has no life, rather dwells and stalks people from underground." I snapped, irritated by her foul attitude.

The bartender turned around, leaving my draw to drop open. Oh god, I wish I hadn't said that so suddenly, for my bartender WAS Erika! She smirked, shining a fresh glass.

"America isn't a place for you. Go home, and while you're at it, annul your marriage to Chris, 'cause he's mine. Haven't any luck having children, have you? Word's out you tie him to the bed and force him to make love to you, because he doesn't want you." she sniggered.

"So what? And he'd want a foul beast like you?" I retaliated, balling my hands into fists. Erika laughed, pulling off her mask and staring me in the eye. Now that I got a good look of it, I secretly wondered why she even wears a mask, for the only thing wrong with it is the three jagged scars from her eyes to her chin line. It wasn't exactly hideous, in France they'd be considered honorable battle scars rather than a deformity, but it was too late to change that.

"Actually, I think he would." Erika replied, setting the glass down. Suddenly, I was handed a paper. Chris...Chris had signed annulment papers!?

.::.

**Earlier that day; Chris**

I didn't know what to think of Erika now. She hadn't shown up to practices for the performance tonight until much later.

I was organizing props on the rafters, as I had offered to help set up tonight. When I heard a creak above me, I realized that someone was above me.

With a munching sound agitating my ears, I looked up, to find Erika, her hair let loose. And even more interestingly, she was in the tuxedo she had worn in the Opera House.

She grinned from ear to ear, realizing I noticed her.

"How're ya doing down there, Chrissie?" she teased. She leaped down at least 10 feet, and I winced, expecting her to be hurt, but on cat feet she balanced and smiled, and at last I noticed her cheek and chin were covered in thick black bruises.

"Erika, what happened? What did Monsieur Giry do?" I gasped, reaching towards her bruise and brushing it with my fingertips.

" OH, that!?" she let out a small laugh, nervously her eyes flickered about.

"That's nothing," Erika quickly stammered, "I uh, fell on an ironing board. I was fixing Maddy's dress."

I sighed, brushing away her bangs and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

"Erika...what happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay? It was an ironing board and it really did hurt." she snapped. Knowing it was no use arguing, I changed the subject, noticing the packet of papers she was holding.

"What's this?" I asked. She grinned cheekily, handing it to me.

"Annulment papers. I have a friend in town who had them made this morning." she giggled feverishly.

I thought for a moment. Erika had gone through all the trouble to make these, she must really want Rachael gone. Not like that was a problem, my marriage was already falling apart, but she was my childhood friend.

With a click, Erika whirled out a pen, madly smirking now as she pointed to the blank spots.

"Sign here, here, and here! And then I will have a little talking to do with Rachael on her part..."

I paused, staring her down for a moment. I loved Erika, but I didn't want to ruin Rachael forever. Her family would be traumatized.

"Okay." I mumbled, defeated. I signed my name onto the document, and as if she were holding gold, Erika squealed in excitement. Then something must've dawned upon her, for she grew grim.

"There's a problem. Monsieur Giry..I don't want to leave Madeleine alone with him anymore. If you have time, could you walk around with her? I'm sure after tonight Rachael will have vacated the area." Erika desperately pleaded. I saw a glimmer of underlying fear in her eyes, not of me, but of the mentioning of Monsieur Giry.

I wasn't sure what had happened, but based upon what terrible markings Erika had along her chin and cheek, he had beaten her senselessly. I couldn't help but wonder, maybe this had all been my fault for coming?

I agreed to Erika's plead for me to stay with Madeleine for a while. What harm would it do, to spend time with my child?

.::.

**Chris, later that day**

.::.

For two hours, I chaperoned my daughter. She was very shy talking to me, but when she did speak, she was beautifully outgoing.

"So, Madeleine," I began, but she cut me off with her smiling, happy-go-lucky nature.

"Please call me Maddy, monsieur! Mom and Grandfather call me Maddy." she squeaked.

"Yeah, I was going to ask about that, Miss Maddy. So if Madame E is your mom, who's your father?" I was hoping maybe Madeleine knew, but hopes were low for me. My heart was prepared for disappointment.

"My papa's name is Mortimer. I used to think he was my uncle, but Grandpa Addams told me that he was my papa so that's what I call him." she socially chirped, then began to continue licking her ice cream cone on the park bench.

My heart twisted with rage. Of course Monsieur Giry would twist the truth for Madeleine!

I chose to remain calm on the other hand, when out of the blue, I heard Erika come up from behind us.

"Oh, there you two are!" she shrilled. Madeleine squeaked in delight, accepting a hug from her mother, as she scooted beside us. I observed the mother-and-daughter bond between the two. The way Madeleine's green eyes sparkled as her mother chatted happily with her made me feel deeply wounded I had missed out on her life.

"So how'd it go with Rachael, assuming you went to talk to her?" I broke the awkwardness between us. Erika smugly waggled her eyebrows.

"I think she's gonna go. She didn't sign yet, she said she wanted to hear it from you first, but she would sign if you tell her that's what you want-" Erika had started talking, but our daughter squealed again, leaping from her seat to run towards something.

Erika looked up, then sent me a very nervous glance. It was Mortimer. Madeleine had leaped into his arms, spotting him along the sidewalk. The very sight of my best friend holding MY child made me feel a little sick to my stomach.

"Daddy! Uncle Christopher bought me ice cream and took me to the park today! I like Uncle Christopher a lot, papa!"

My heart sank as Erika got up to approach. I bowed my head, just listening.

"Mommy, doesn't Daddy look handsome this afternoon? Will he do good in the show? Will he?" Madeleine anticipated, her rosy cheeks bent in dewdrop dimples.

Erika forced herself clearly to smile, and Mortimer, I noticed, wasn't trying to fake anything, rather gave me the most understanding look in my direction it took me by surprise.

"Why don't you and your mother go on ahead to the theater while I talk to uncle Chris?" he suggested, clapping his hands together. When the child and young mother both left, Chris took their places on the bench.

We sat in silence for a moment, before Mortimer sighed a heavy, depressive sigh.

"I assume you saw the bruises on Erika's face, huh?" he grumbled, shaking his head slowly and sadly.

When I didn't answer, he continued.

"I know why you're mad, and I don't blame you. Papa gave Erika a beating last night all across her face and kicked her repeatedly in the stomach. It wasn't right, and I tried to stop him. Just like I tried to stop him when he lied to little Maddy and told her I was her father. I didn't want it, Chris, all I ever wanted was for my friends to be happy..." he enquired optimistically. He folded his arms around the back of his neck, kicking back and relaxing.

"I don't blame you either, Mortimer," I admitted, "I wish I hadn't made my marriage to Rachael, but I have a feeling with the calm eye, there'll be a storm whipping up soon, and somewhere in between someone's going to get really hurt, and it's either Erika or Rachael. I don't know who to pick, I don't want to be a heartbreaker."

Mortimer tapped my shoulder, jolting up.

"I just realized...we have to be on stage in ten minutes!" he exasperated. I looked at my watch. Oh gosh, he was right! We had to hurry!


End file.
